Gemotions

The young woman watched the admirers circle her sculpture, a grotesque figure she’d crafted in a moment of intense, private despair. It was meant to stay hidden, a testament to her darkest feelings, yet here it was, gleaming under the harsh gallery lights. Someone had broken into her workshop. Someone had *stolen* her pain.

She felt a tremor run through her. Her breath hitched in her throat. Every comment, every appreciative glance, felt like a violation. They didn't *understand*. They couldn't.

She wanted to dismantle it, to smash it to pieces with a hammer, to erase every trace of its existence. The sculptor, a man, approached her with a patronising smile, extending his hand. She barely acknowledged it and turned away, desperate to be invisible.